


Turn To

by AnnieTheMouse



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Competence Kink, M/M, People being really good at what they do and BAMF is really hot, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29188701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieTheMouse/pseuds/AnnieTheMouse
Summary: Or 'How Flynn Fairwind comes to realize he has a competence kink the size of Boralas'.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 60
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

Flynn scopes out the bar where all the Alliance soldier boys go to wet their whistle on their off duty nights pretty much immediately. If he’s going to have to work with these Alliance, he wants to know what he’s working with. And, bonus, Cyrus is paying him well to know more about what they'll be working with. Definitely enough to forward him money for bribes, or in this case beer.

It takes a few drinks of some particularly powerful brew, but he is charming and friendly and over a few nights starts to pull together a picture of them. Jaina Proudmoore may be a legend and a warning that every child knows the song to, but the Alliance soldiers seem to respect her more than fear her, a complete difference to the tales he’s been told. Their boy king is respected as well, apparently, despite how young they all note he is. And the King that is here? Well, Greymane is apparently as deadly as he seems, and not to be underestimated.

None of them have really interacted directly with either the Daughter of the Sea or either King though. So it’s all hearsay - vague, and not all that useful. Even less useful, he admits, because when is someone like him going to interact with people like that?

But for the Alliance folks he’s starting to know during his work for Cyrus - of which, admittedly, finding out this information is somewhat a part of - he gets a little more detail. Of Wyrmbane, and how he’s painfully upright but completely respected down to the lowliest of grunts. That Jes-Terath will in the middle of a storm be right down hauling in the lines with the crew, a sign to him of a proper captain. 

That no one wants to mess with Shandris Feathermoon, ever. Ever.

The one of the group that none of them seem to talk about, the one that never seems to get a mention, is Shaw. He’s admittedly trying to be subtle, not asking for any of them by name, but while his vague comments and nudges seem to bring up more information on all the rest (including some rather florid descriptions of why people don’t mess with Feathermoon)- Shaw just never seems to come up.

It’s frustrating, honestly. He doesn't like blind spots. So he waits, til they’re heavy in their cups, til they’re past the point of realizing a Kul Tiran constitution can handle the drink far far better, and makes his nudges a little more specific. Asks by his name.

Spymaster, is all he’s told. They don’t seem to have much of anything else. Someone mentions they heard he went weird in the last war, that this king and the last king favored him, but that’s about it. Nothing useful, nothing good. By this time he knows how Wyrmbane started out as a knight, Admiral Jes’Terath’s favourite drink, and who Feathermoon’s adoptive mother is - but nothing about Master Shaw. It doesn’t even seem to register with them that this is unusual. It’s just how it is to them.

He’s frustrated. But there’s also part of him that is pretty impressed. 

Though not as impressed as he is the next night, while he’s handing out his first round, preparing for another night of information gathering. When he turns around to hand out the last drink the hand that reaches out and takes this tankard is none other than the Spymaster himself. Green eyes piercing him as he sits down at the bar, beside the soldiers Flynn has just plied with liquor. There’s a challenge in that look which stops his planned spiel in his throat.

Instead he starts up on a Kul Tiran folk tale, getting the soldiers laughing and joking along, but the eyes still watching him as the other man sips keep him on edge. Normally he’d offer another round once the first is coming to an end, but before he can Shaw is slipping from his stool, stepping up beside him, hand on his shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“I think that’s quite enough, don’t you?” 

Flynn shivers, but doesn’t reach again to his purse to buy the next round, and the soldiers stumble back to their ship a little less unevenly than they did the night before. He doesn’t try that technique again - drinking with soldiers, of course always - but not for information.

And he still knows nothing about the Spymaster, other than the cold of his gaze and the warmth of his breath on his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from a sea song (not technically a shanty) lyric:  
> Turn to, and put out all your strength of arm and heart and brain
> 
> Because I needed a sea-faring song, and because strength of arm and heart and brain was pretty well perfect for a story about competence and the scallywags that love it, but seemed a little too on the nose for a title.
> 
> https://youtu.be/fT-aEcPgkuA?t=100 for the song in question (which I admittedly already loved so was biased to use)


	2. Chapter 2

Flynn’s got a funny feeling he’s been played.

He’d gone to Freehold, against his better judgement, for Cyrus and Kul Tiras. He owes Cyrus, and he loves his country, so for them he could be convinced.

He doesn’t owe the Alliance anything. But the fact that on his return, he’s shuffled not off to Cyrus’s office but onto the Alliance flagship gives him a feeling someone else may have been pulling the strings. 

Not that he’s complaining about the side effects of where he’s ended up. He’s not the type of person who normally gets access to real healing, but the priest that looked him over had cleaned up all the Irontide damage and a little more besides - he’s pretty sure that knot in his shoulder had been there more than a fortnight. 

Eventually the post healer euphoria will fade and the normal aches of a normal body would come back, but it’s something he’s going to enjoy while it lasts. He’s definitely not going to miss being out of commission for as long as the damage that Harlan had gleefully ordered be done to him would have led to. He's got things to do, after all.

Though he’s not the only one taking advantage of that floaty feeling he has a suspicion, as a gloved hand holds a mug out in front of his face. He takes it - he’s suspicious but not stupid - and watches as Shaw settles into the chair beside the little cot where he’s been told to stay and rest while the last of that healing magic seeps through his bones.

He’s not seen the man since he warned him off the soldiers. He’s not quite sure to expect. Though, as he takes a sip at the mug, tastes not just Major’s Frothy coffee but a strong spike of a proper, strong brandy - well. That might be worth giving into the inevitable.

“I figured there had to be some reason that champion was willing to help a fact finding mission, but I had rather hoped it was just my charm” The crooked grin he gives over the edge of the mug is not returned, but there’s something in the other man’s eyes that almost feels like amusement.

Either that or exasperation. Flynn’s always had a little trouble telling those apart. 

Still, the brandy is quality which does wonders for his mood, and the coffee is helping drag his brain back into action, so they might as well get started. “What can I tell you, Master Shaw?”

It’s an interrogation. Not that it's painful, but Shaw pulls things from him, makes him think of things in a different way, pulls out every detail so that even as Flynn talks he’s making more connections to Ashvane himself with every new path they walk down. Cursing Harlan a little bit more with every one.

Shaw takes notes, sketches maps, and by the end when he closes his notebook carefully and looks back up at Flynn, Flynn’s realizing he’s more thankful for the coffee than the brandy. He’s worn and tired, even if his body is rested.

“Thank you, Captain Fairwind” Shaw finally says as he levers him to his feet. “If you think of anything else, please let me know.”

There is nothing else, Flynn is certain. He can’t think of anything they didn’t cover- hell, he hadn’t thought of some of the things they’d covered. Still, as he drinks down the dregs at the bottom of his mug, there is one thing that is bugging him.

“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me what vintage that brandy is.” Shaw turns to look back at him, his eyebrow raised, the most expressive he’s ever seen the other man. “So I can make sure to have a proper tipple to celebrate once you make sure Harlan gets what’s coming to him.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain” is all he gets in response before the Spymaster departs. Flynn almost feels sorry for his former first mate. But not quite. 

Harlan’s always been a bastard, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then we stomped through the dungeon on repeat and killed Harlan Sweete multiple times and he STILL wouldn't drop Sharkbait's crackers I mean come on Harlan you are a bastard.


	3. Chapter 3

The bottle of brandy that appears in his cabin - his locked and seemingly otherwise undisturbed cabin - comes the same day he hears via the grapevine that Freehold has been raided, Harlan Sweete taken down, and the Irontide scattered. He may be seen and may not be when he raises a toast in the direction of the flagship, but it seems appropriate. And he’s not going to complain about additional pay for his efforts, especially when it goes down smooth.

Naught wrong about a little hair of the dog that bit you before a busy day, after all.

“We do need to figure out what they are thinking, now that they’re disrupted.” Cyrus is saying as he makes his way into his office, now the regular meeting place of their new tenuous alliance with the Alliance. Wyrmbane nods where he stands across from him, armor gleaming even in the low light of this office, distracting enough that you’d miss Shaw where he leans against the wall unless you were looking for him.

Not that Flynn was looking for him. 

“If you figure they’ll still be up to trouble, you’re probably figuring right” he says as he wanders into the room, finding a place against the opposite wall. “Which I am assuming is why you called.”

“I’m thinking so” Cyrus nods. “Which is why yes, you scallywag, it’s time for you to make yourself useful again. Buy a few drinks, spin a few tales, see what drops out.” 

“Can do. I also have a … contact … who might know more” Flynn acknowledges flippantly, and if the wink and a smile at the mention of his contact are intimating something a little more intimate than the truth, well, he doesn’t want to spend too much time thinking about why he wants them to think that. Why he wants Shaw to think that.

“Captain” Shaw warns, and this reaction is such a departure from the normal cold gaze and lack of response that he winks again before walking forward to grab the pouch Cyrus is dangling for him. Cyrus just sighs at him, as usual. Wyrmbane - well, he looks annoyed, but Flynn's starting to feel that’s generally how Wyrmbane looks.

It’s the same routine he’d played on the soldiers, just with a different audience, a different location. He knows he has backup this time, unseen but there, and that is a reassurance he’d needed after how badly Freehold had gone. He buys the rounds, he talks, he cajoles, and he listens. Little tidbits, perhaps not useful individually, but put together he can start to see the picture of what’s next, of what’s coming.

He waits til everything starts to close up, and then ducks back into the last bar in the row.

“Last bell’s already rung, Flynn” says the woman cleaning the bar, but he pulls out his best smile just for her. Sammy’s the reason he’s here, after all. The other information has been useful, but she’s always known more than most, heard more than you’d expect. It’s been rather useful, both in his pirate days and since.

“Not here for a drink sweetheart” he tells her as he steps across the floor and slides into a stool. “Just some help.”

“And why should I help you, Fairwind?” she asks archly, even as a noise behind them - the door shutting, locking - makes him start. His hand slips to his pistol before he recognizes the figure standing there as he pulls back his hood - Shaw. Shaw himself as his backup, and isn’t that unexpected.

And then he sees Sammy pause as she meets that cold gaze. Wonders if she’ll give him hell for locking them in, just like she’s giving Flynn hell just for being here. “Oh. well, that’s one reason” she mutters instead, eyes dancing. “Hello boss”

“Boss?” Flynn tries to keep his expression calm but he can’t keep the shock from his face, the drop of his chin, the tone of his voice rising. “Boss?”

That makes absolutely no sense. This place has been here long before the Alliance returned, and so had she, and for her to call Shaw boss would mean either she’d been bought out by the Alliance since they got here which is not at all what she's known for, or …

Or the Alliance had been here long before they’d been known to been here.

There’s always been a little extra about her, a little edge, that he’s never been able to understand. One that makes a lot more sense if you’re not just here for drinks, or for profit. Little things that make a lot more sense if you’re actually here as a spy. He considers telling Cyrus, just for a moment, before letting it go. Him knowing SI:7 has been spying here long before now is not going to do anyone any favors with the tentative peace currently being found between them.

“You didn’t need me at all, did you?” he asks quietly as Shaw walks up beside him.

“You’ve gotten good information earlier tonight. And having you be seen as the person who is gathering intel from her, is an advantage” returns the other man. “She’s been known to sell you information before. For a good profit.”

“And is not known to sell information to the Alliance” Flynn returns glumly. It’s a good plan. He just wishes it had been his plan.

“Oh cheer up Flynn” Sammy grins from across the bar, dropping a tankard in front of his face. “You’re still my favorite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Not only is Flynn trading on his reputation and over-exaggerating things 100% canon, I also see this as a way he'd use to stay 'valuable'. If you have contacts no one else has, and who have reasons to prefer you - well, then you're useful to keep around. Flynn's not stupid.
> 
> 2) There was a known island nation with a huge damn grudge against one of the big damn heroes of the Alliance and people think SI:7 wouldn't be keeping an eye on that? Shaw is also not stupid.
> 
> Also I had to do the alliance with the Alliance pun/wordplay I mean ...


	4. Chapter 4

He’d reported what they’d learned, on his return, not just to Cyrus but to Jaina Proudmoore herself. It’s a funny world where you go from gathering intel on someone to reporting intel to someone in such a short period.

But then, she’d pulled the Kul Tiran fleet from the fog, she’d brought their ships home. There is nothing but loyalty for the one who can do that from true Kul Tirans once that happens, and he regrets having given up on her now.

With that, everything changes. The focus has changed from internal strife and piracy to war now that the fleet is back, and here he’s a little less in his element. The Admiralty and the Alliance offer him work though, believe that he can help for some reason, and Flynn can’t help but want to help. 

And, admittedly, get paid for doing so. Being told they want him to break into a treasure trove ... well that hits both buttons quite firmly. The champion trusts him and needs people to help them, he’s told, and well they’ve definitely had a drink or two since their first prison break so he supposes that makes sense? But the fact that the other person involved in this break-in is Shaw is something he doesn’t realize til he’s stepped off his boat and found himself in the jungle. 

It’s not that he’s not used to dealing with the man - his meetings with Cyrus involve Shaw and sometimes Wyrmbane relatively regularly now, when he’s bringing in intel he’s hearing from around Boralas, information gathering hidden under the guise of his crew being asked to haul supplies for the Lord Admiral.

It’s not that he’s still upset about the trick he’d played on him with Sammy, either. There’s something to be said in watching how quickly the Alliance starts to fill the gaps in the Kul Tiran defence that makes him realize he’d been right in how he’d kept his mouth shut. He’s started to get used to Shaw and he’s not sure when that happened, but there’s a difference between talking with Shaw as he pries details from his brain and plies him with drink in return - and being told he’s expected to guard his back too.

He’s a little bit more nervous at the thought. Providing intel to the higher ups at least was familiar but this? This is not what he does. Both the champion and Shaw are so much more critical to this effort than one former pirate, so Flynn retreats to his comfort. He cracks wise, jokes, lets the pressure out the only way he knows how. 

The shocking thing is - Shaw reacts to it. Shaw never seems to be exasperated, never falls for his antics - but here he is, calling him on taking it not seriously enough. Which only sets him off more.

It throws him off balance enough that it steadies his nerves, somehow. 

Shaw’s reaction to having someone that powerful order him to do something seems to be the opposite of Flynn’s - even more formal. But then once they’re inside Shaw’s behaviour switches the other way, confusing and almost distracting. He responds to his jokes now, something that he’s only seen hints of between reports. He jokes back, voice mocking but light, even as he cuts through guardians and golems and crazy complex traps.

And look. Here’s the thing. Flynn knows his weaknesses. Charming women - and deadly men.

Shaw doesn’t look the type at first, doesn’t look imposing, but he feels the strength in his grip as the man hauls him up from where he’s dived to the side to avoid one trap, sees the precision of his strikes as he steps up and takes out a guardian without even breathing heavy. He’s fast and sure and clever and yes, oh so deadly.

And the tone of his voice when he says passable job, Fairwind - well, Flynn realizes, suddenly, that’s going to keep him up at night.

The straight-laced, straight-faced spymaster trading verbal jabs was unexpected, but even more unexpected that it’s with him. And then the compliment in that tone …

Well, if not for the giant gold elemental, five more minutes of that and he’d have propositioned the man, alliance champion or no alliance champion. 

It’s the adrenaline. The feel of a job well done - even if the job goes wrong, in the end. That’s what he tries to tell himself. But as he watches Shaw finish his report to Lady Proudmoore, turning on his heel with precision once dismissed - all that force again contained and hidden - he’s not quite sure he believes that.

When he makes it back to his bunk, he knows he doesn’t believe that.

_Tides._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) I far too much love the use of 'Tides' in replacement for 'God' and/or 'Fuck' as a swearword in fanon(canon?)
> 
> b) Like I was going to avoid an I'll be in my bunk reference when it was right there. I mean, he's on a boat.


	5. Chapter 5

He hasn’t figured out quite what he’s going to do about all the things, but Flynn isn’t going to let a little thing like that stop him. The Alliance have offered him a new commission, adventuring for profit and for Azerite, and well. Adventuring and profit, but for a good cause - what’s not to like?

His crew likes it too, as does his Alliance champion drinking buddy, who comes on a number of trips and is completely willing to start the drinking on the way back to the harbour. Once they’re in safe waters, of course.

That’s who he’s expecting, for this trip out. Wyrmbane did mention that there was a horde camp that they thought had some useful intel on this specific island, and usually if there’s something of note it means someone the Alliance trusts, and that’s usually them. He’s kind of impressed the number of things they have their hands in, to be honest.

He’s completely sure this’ll be one of them, until Matthias fucking Shaw walks onto his tides be damned ship.

He hasn’t been avoiding him, not really. It’s just that his new duties involve reporting direct to Wyrmbane now, no more skulking planning sessions in Cyrus’s office. And although he’s seen him many days, with his own reports at his own station on the flagship, he hasn’t really directly interacted with him since that day.

Since that night where just the memory of his voice ... well.

Still Flynn Fairwind is a professional, at least by his own standards, and there is a voyage to cast off and a timeline to keep. “Master Shaw?” he asks, though he’s pretty sure what’s going on. 

“Captain Fairwind. Hope you don’t mind some additional company on this trip. I have some exploring of my own to do.” the other man responds with a careful nod. 

Flynn just nods back, and grabs his first mate to show the man where to put his things while he continues to prepare to cast off. It’s easier to drop his mind into the sea of duty and captaining, and so avoid any real conversation with the other man while he has a ship to run. If he’s a little more diligent than usual, his crew won’t call him on it. 

They just follow suit, and make it to the island without delay.

“No full survey this time” Shaw orders as their landing boat hits the beach. “Gather what you can in view of the ship, but be ready to go at any moment if you see the Horde. I’ll be back before you’re done.” And without even a pause he’s off towards the trees.

“You need some sort of backup” Flynn exclaims at his back, taking a step towards him, but Shaw doesn’t pause. Before Flynn can say another word, he’s into the bush and bloody disappears from sight. Flynn is a rogue, he knows how this works, but Shaw's gone so fast he can't even track his movement.

He'd call it scarily fast, but he's honest enough with himself to admit that the shivers down his spine are not from fear.

The crew gathers the azerite without incident, except when with the final pieces they disturb a nest of crocolisks. Normally he’d go pistols blazing, but he doesn’t want to do anything to gather any attention, to potentially cause issues for Shaw wherever he is, so it’s sabres and melee instead. 

He’s finishing off the last one when Shaw appears out of nowhere beside him. “Making friends?” the spy asks, and he doesn’t appear to be concerned or in a hurry, so Flynn can’t help but laugh even as he gestures to the crewman behind him to help haul the largest of the beasts into the boat as well. Waste not, want not after all, and crocolisk meat is mighty tasty.

They’re back on the ship before any incident occurs, gone and casting off with no sight of anyone following. If not for the satisfied gleam in the eyes of the other man, he’d almost swear there were no Horde here. They seem to have gotten away completely free and clear, and he feels safe enough to let his first mate take the wheel, and wander over to where Shaw still watches behind them. 

“Successful trip?” Flynn asks as he comes to rest at the railing beside the spy, unable to not pry, and Shaw hums, patting the pouch at his belt.

“Enough to ensure you can avoid their patrols for at least the next month, amongst other things.” Shaw tells him, eyes still on the island fading into the distance. And well, damn. A month of no horde patrols will make his job much easier and bring a lot more azerite to the Alliance and Kul Tiras. 

The island finally disappears behind the horizon, and it’s only then that Shaw finally relaxes into the railing. It brings him just that little bit closer to Flynn, enough he can feel the warmth of the body beside him, cutting through the cold of the ocean winds. He can’t recall how they ended up standing like this, but it’s distractingly close, too close.

“So is this where I tell you you did a passable job, Shaw?” he asks, and it’s meant to be flippant but the shock of being so near to the man with all those things he still hasn’t resolved in his own head has made his voice be a little hoarser than he thought.

“I am sure you’ll find I’m much more than passable” Shaw retaliates, his voice smooth and confident - and well, Flynn has no argument for that. Lots of mental pictures, but no argument.

Over his head and drowning on his own damned boat. _Tides, I'm screwed._

He doesn’t realize he’s said that last bit out loud until Shaw laughs, soft and low, and Flynn freezes before looking over. Shaw gives him a sidelong look in return, and something about the curve of his lips, the slouch in his lean against the railing, it all gives Flynn the sinking feeling he’s been played. Again.

And curse him but he likes it. He really really does.

“Will I?” he asks, hopeful, and Shaw just smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that tides is definitely ‘god’ as a swear word. Partially because it makes more sense with Tidemother, and partially because I may have just wanted to call him Matthias fucking Shaw.


	6. Chapter 6

On their return, there are reports to deliver and Wyrmbane to appease. Not quite what Flynn would prefer, but he’s a professional, and even if he wasn’t Shaw is. He tries not to feel like he’s following Shaw like a lost puppy as he follows him back to the flagship.

He tries instead to look like he’s paying full attention as Shaw lays out what they found on the island. Tries to make it less obvious that he’s thinking not about the report, not about the job, but about the warmth of Shaw beside him at the railing. That knowing smile. The roughness of his laugh.

“Anything to add, Fairwind?” Wyrmbane asks, and well. Yes, but really not likely on any topic the paladin wants to hear about. Still, as Shaw departs he makes his report on the azerite, and leaves the rest of his thoughts for later.

It’s dark by the time he’s done his report. Night is falling as he makes his way up to his deck and he can’t stop his head from turning to look. There is Shaw, over by his normal station, leaning back against the nearby mast like always. His eyes look to be focused on the sky and the stars above, but there’s no way, Flynn knows it, that the man doesn’t know he’s here.

Flynn Fairwind knows who he is. He hasn’t had any illusions about that, not anymore. He’s a professional, when it pays to be. He’s a scoundrel, when it's good to be. 

He’s a coward, when it’s safer. He’s brave, when he can’t stand being anything else.

He’s prone to a gamble, if the prize be worth it. 

He’s walking over before there’s any true thought behind it. “Buy you a drink, Shaw?” It could be just a drink. Maybe.

Maybe not. Shaw’s head tilts down to take a look at him, and even in the dark his gaze is as assessing as it has ever been. He hums, soft in the back of his throat, and Flynn knows right there that any chance of this passing as ‘just a drink’ are pretty much gone.

“Are you sure a drink is what you’re after?” And Flynn, Flynn is going to respond with a flippant comment, a wink, but something makes him pause. He’s not completely sure how to answer that. A drink is part of it, but he’s not sure if he knows what he wants, not completely.

He’s used to making it up as he goes along, but for some reason nothing comes to mind. The silence extends, awkwardly, but for once he’s at a loss for something to say. He’d make a joke about how rare it is, if he could speak.

“This isn’t something that tends to happen with me. You’re unexpected, Flynn.” The statement is soft, almost too quiet to hear. He can’t really see Shaw’s face in the shadows, but that’s okay. He wouldn’t be able to read it anyway.

Better just to ask, words finally coming. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think it was worth a chance though.” Flynn knows he is confident. Knows he’s often over-confident.

Doesn’t think he’s being that here though. Not even as Shaw closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before stepping forward.

He’s not sure what to expect, but he definitely doesn’t expect Shaw to pull a coin from his pouch, roll it down the back of his fingers, deft and sure. “Heads or tails?” he asks, and Flynn goes to respond but pauses, shocked, because even in the growing darkness he knows the glint of that gold, the color and shape of that coin. Zandalari gold.

“Did you take that from the treasury?” he asks, aghast and thrilled at the same time. After all the trouble he’d been given for asking if he could borrow a little on that excursion, the fact the spymaster is standing there, practically waving one of those shiny coins in his face, seems highly unfair.

“Heads or tails?” Shaw just repeats, no change to his tone, and Flynn just raises an eyebrow in question.

Shaw raises one back. “Who buys the round, of course. Heads or tails?”

“Heads” Flynn says, because he always picks heads, and surely the Tidemother will bless him now. He watches the coin flip through the air, Shaw’s easy catch and slap of the gold against his palm before he looks down.

“I win” Shaw says, and of course he does. “You supply the drink.”

The coin flicks back into the air and then is gone, twisted into Shaw’s grip fast enough Flynn almost doesn’t see the move. He doesn’t even show him the coin to prove he’s won. Flynn would object, if this wasn’t working out in his favor. 

“I have quite a nice brandy on my ship” he offers instead. He’s been parceling it out, carefully, but this is definitely a reason to splurge.

“Do you” Shaw responds, as if he’s not the man who broke into his cabin and put it there. 

This time as Flynn lets him lead the way, he’s feeling less like he’s following and more that he’s anticipating. He’s about 90% sure that this is going to end up in his favor. The Other 10% is him stabbed and thrown overboard for even daring to approach the man, but well. He’s gambled on far worse odds.

Some things are worth the risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally I wouldn't classify Flynn's choice to run from being a pirate as cowardice, but I don't think he'd be quite so kind to himself.
> 
> Also next chapter has mentions of sex, which means maybe i should up this to M, but it's 1000% not porn because I cannot write competent sex scenes to save my life, so ... it will be the mildest M anyone has ever known. Sorry for anyone expecting the prons, consider this your pre-warning.


	7. Chapter 7

Flynn has a plan, by the time they’re on their second brandy. He thinks it’s a pretty good one.

If Shaw is a little bit more of a challenge than the average visitor to his cabin, well, that’s part of the thrill of it all. It’s been awhile, but even if it hadn’t, the fact that it’s the Spymaster sitting on his rickety chair, watching him over the rim of his mug, well - it’d still feel new, he’s pretty sure.

And it’s always good to have a plan. After all, Shaw had pretty well told him he didn’t do this often, and Flynn Fairwind is not above using every pleasurable trick in his arsenal to make sure the man doesn’t regret his choice. He has a lot of them. Well practiced.

How that plan and practice ends up with him being the one breathless, laid out on the bed, nearly coming barely a minute after all his clothes were off, he’s not truly sure.

Nearly coming is not an exaggeration either. It’s only through the deft reactions of the man stretched out beside him that he’d not lost it already. Careful eyes watching him, pulling off just before to gets too much, then starting again. All of Flynn’s plans have gone right out the window and somehow he’s just along for the ride and he tries to give as good as he gets but it’s overwhelming and so damn good and …

Flynn’s dizzy by the end, unable to do much more than pull Shaw closer while trying to regain his breath.

“If that’s what you’re like with something you don’t tend to do, I’m not sure I’ll survive after more practice” he admits, taking advantage of his comparative height to let his face rest in the other man’s hair, breathing him in. “But I’m willing to risk it.”

“When I said this doesn’t tend to happen to me, I didn’t mean sex” comes the response as Shaw rolls back to look up at him, eyebrow as perfect an arch here as it's ever been. “I’m a spy, Flynn. Everything can be used as a weapon. Even this.”

Flynn thinks it over for a second. “That shouldn’t make this even hotter.”

“But it does” Shaw returns, confidently, and well.

It really does.

It does so well that it’s not until the next morning, after Shaw has left - far too early for Flynn’s liking - that he realizes he doesn’t quite know what Shaw had meant then.

And that the man had finally called him Flynn. Not Fairwind, not Captain, but Flynn.

And the fact that he still didn’t even know the man’s first name in return.

And most important of all these revelations, that he wanted to do that again. More than once.

The only real question is whether Shaw wants to.

He spends the entire day trying to figure out how to approach him and ask that. Words are not normally a problem for him, but last night they’d failed him, and now they’re failing him again and he’s not quite sure why. Considers going to find a drink, or two, or three to loosen his tongue. Instead he finds himself up in the crow’s nest on the Middenwake, which has the best view of the flagship deck. 

Ostensibly he’s up here to check & repair the lines, but his attention might be drifting. He spends a lot of it watching a rather particular part of that deck. Watching how Shaw moves with the slight rock even a tied ship must deal with, how he obviously orders people out and they listen to him and do his bidding. All things he knew Shaw did, but never paid attention to. There’s something about a birds eye view that always gives him more perspective.

As he watches, it reminds him of last night in a way. Every movement Shaw makes on that bridge is contained, controlled. Every movement last night, driving Flynn to distraction, had been so precise, intentional. Until he too had finally lost control, just for a moment, and Flynn can’t help how the memory of that moment makes him feel. 

The many ways it makes him feel, including being rather thankful for the cold wind off the water. The lines do need looking at, after all.

Despite his distraction he’s done by the time the sun slowly starts to set and he makes his way down to the deck, trying to determine if he should go and try and find Shaw. If he’s willing to risk it a second night in the row. Only to find Shaw already there, at the top of his gangplank, once he hits the ground.

There’s a bottle in his hand, something new and unfamiliar, and Flynn’s heart rate spikes.

“May I?” asks Shaw, and it’s anything but an order, but it’s not quite a question either.

“Do you know I don’t even know your first name?” Flynn responds instead of stepping aside. “If you’re going to make me scream again tonight, it’d be nice to know who I should be thanking.”

“Other than the Tidemother?” Shaw asks, and there’s a glint in his eyes, almost the hint of a grin, and it’s good that Flynn isn’t the type of blush at anything - even the memory of his own voice calling out to the rafters _oh Tidemother oh please don’t stop_

He’s more the type to smirk, really. Nothing to be ashamed of, that. He prefers to show his enthusiasm. Shaw had kept it much more quiet but he doesn’t take it personally either. In fact, he’s hoping he’ll have a chance to change that. 

“Mathias” the other man finally answers, and Flynn grins properly, wide and wild, before stepping aside to let Shaw - no, Mathias - back in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just saying - they make him have that Shaw, Mathias Shaw voiceover. If he’s the WoW James Bond, then it ain’t the sex part he has problems with.
> 
> Flynn ain’t no slouch either, but in his defence, he really wasn’t expecting it. 
> 
> But yeah. you can’t do competency kink without competency in bed being part of the kink. Or at least, apparently I couldn’t.


	8. Chapter 8

Shaw comes back the next night. The next night after that. Flynn starts getting his own back, just a little, sees Mathias lose that much vaunted control just a little more. Not for long, but enough to make him crave more.

Those brief glimpses make him truly realize even more how much control the man has, and it’s hotter than he’d expected. He admits he’s spending as much time focusing on trying to break through that wall as he is on how much he’s enjoying what the man does to him.

Plus it actually helps, in a way. Distracts him from the pleasure that’s trying to take him over. Draws it out a little longer. Less embarrassing, more satisfying in the end. Win. Win.

And it’s good. Until it isn’t. Until one night Shaw doesn’t show up. 

Which - why should he? They’ve not had a conversation about this. Mathias has shown up, and Flynn has let him in. It’s not Mathias’s fault that Flynn’s started to get used to falling asleep with someone else in his bed, even if he never gets to wake up beside him.

He’s a coward when it’s safer, after all. And Flynn hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t let himself realize he was getting used to it until now.

He has another trip out for more azerite to keep him occupied the next day, followed by a report to make to Wyrmbane. Pretty standard, until the end, where Wyrmbane pauses, looks over to the table beside him, to the maps stretched out above it.

“Fairwind, do you know the area around Shatterfall Pass at all?”

The fact this echoes a question Shaw asked him as they’d shared a bottle last night is likely not a coincidence. 

“Shaw not around? He’s usually the one who asks me all the weird questions” he asks, trying for subtle. Flynn’s not great at it, but he figures that his empty bed each morning is probably a sign that there’s certain things the other man does not want to be public, so subtle it is.

It’s not Wyrmbane who answers him. Instead it’s Feathermoon, who he quite honestly has been avoiding much interaction with after all the early tales of the soldiers and sailors of this fleet. But she’s always there, overlooking things, and here she’s apparently overlistening things too.

“He does have things to do other than wait for your reports” she comments, and well. That definitely gives him a pretty good idea now of where Shaw might be. Also why he’d been so chatty the night before. 

He’s not sure what he thinks about intelligence gathering as foreplay, though it definitely provided him incentive to talk. 

He walks over the maps with them though, sharing knowledge that only those Kul Tirans that sail these shores might know. He hadn’t fully appreciated how smooth Mathias tends to be about questioning him, even before he was in his bed, until he’s fielding questions from a couple of warriors who just want answers. And their questions leave him on edge in more than one way - there's no way they'd be this concerned over just pirates, not anymore.

On edge means a night at the pub before he finally feels his shoulders loosen just a little. It's late by the time he's heading back to his berth, and it's the by the Tidemother's own luck that he spots the figure taking the stairs down from the Flightmaster.

He has to run to catch up, not the best idea on a headful of grog, but it's worth it as the other man looks his way. “Back already are you?” slips from his mouth before he realizes, making it a joke because he feels he needs to.

“Work” Mathias responds, matter of fact, and it’s pretty clear Flynn’s not going to get more of an explanation than that. It’s also pretty clear that Shaw is exhausted. He could ask, he wants to ask, but it can wait. 

"Mine?" he asks as they step down to the dock, and when Shaw starts to shake his head he tries his best smile. "I promise not to keep you up all night."

Shaw pauses, just a second, and Mathias’s gaze is always piercing but it seems even more so, now. He’s not sure what the other man sees, but before Flynn can ask he continues down the dock ... and continues right past the flagship.

The luck of the tides is definitely with him tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally the story was all vignettes of Shaw being competent and Flynn finding that hot far separated in time, and then Flynn decided he needed bookend stories to his getting sexed and it led to trouble getting back into the flow of the separate vignettes, so this chapter honestly ended up being the most awkward/slowest one here as I had a lot of trouble transitioning back. Thankfully the next one is coming easier.


	9. Chapter 9

Shaw disappears quite a lot, in fact. He’s not sure if that was happening before now and he just wasn’t close enough to notice, or if this is related to why all the Alliance seem a bit more on edge, but either way, he’s getting used to Shaw disappearing. 

Sometimes even with a little warning for him the night before. Or early morning before, depending on how … distracted … they get before they get to that part of the discussion.

Flynn’s life is a lot more routine in comparison. Strangely routine, for Flynn. Right now the Alliance keeps him so busy and well paid with the Azerite runs that he’s not really doing anything else. Two a week most weeks, and everything he needs to do it proper, all the charts and scouting reports of a quality his former scallywag self couldn’t even dream of.

He loves the maps the most. He’s always been intrigued by them, spent hours trying to update his own in his less than stellar hand, but the quality and the detail of the ones the Alliance put together blow away any he’s been able to afford. 

Though even if they're higher quality, it doesn't mean they're always right. Ever since the first time he helped with the knowledge of too many sails down that coastline, they let him point out issues if he finds them. He's even seen some after, his corrections lined out overtop in colored ink, his words beside them written in such a tidier, neater hand than his own. 

He’d envied the meticulous ease of the additions, the almost effortless swoop of the ink on parchment.

It’s a sign that the map is the first thing that hits his mind when on one return via a quick shortcut between two close by islands he finds the tall rock outcroppings of the one island crumbled, jagged rocks spilling into his normal shortcut, water still disturbed by their fall.

It's no longer passable, not safely. They have to take the longer route instead, which keeps them out long enough that the storm he had been hurrying to avoid catches up.

There is nothing to do but drop anchor and wait as sheltered as they can be by a nearby island. It is the smart thing to do, even if they have to be alert all night just in case. Both because of the weather, and because of the risk - they’re expected back at a certain time, and Flynn knows it’s dangerous to be caught out off course and off schedule. 

He used to take advantage of ships like that. He’s not proud of it, but it’s true.

In the end they’re over a day late returning to port, tired and worn out from the storm and detour both, late enough that he knows they'd already be on alert. He tries not to read anything in Shaw’s steady gaze from across the way as he makes his way up to the flagship deck. Wyrmbane sends people over to unload the Azerite so his crew can just head home, something that Flynn is beyond thankful for. 

He’s not so lucky though, not willing to leave until everything is offboarded and he can finalize his report. 

“We can find you a bunk while you wait” Feathermoon says when his yawning gets too hard to hide and too loud for the elf to ignore. He expects yet another sailor to help guide him down, but instead it’s Shaw at his side gesturing for him to turn, and Flynn is only too familiar with stumbling behind the man by now that it doesn’t even occur to him to ask where they’re going. 

By the time he's walked into a cabin with a messy desk and is facing a bunk he’s barely alert enough to kick off his boots before he’s collapsing forward into a set of sheets far more comfortable than what he’s used to, and out.

He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep when he awakes, mind still muddy as he rolls over. The cabin has barely enough room for the bunk and the desk that faces it. On that desk rests a tray, covered with a cloth, and Flynn stumbles over to the chair. 

Tries not to be distracted by the familiar armor on the stand across from him, and what that might mean.

He’s starving, but then he actually does get distracted by a lone paper he sees half under the desk, like it's been accidentally pushed off the top by someone far too hurried in their tidying. He’s nosy, he admits it. He knows what he finds might be not meant for the eyes of someone like him, but he feels safe here in this room, guarded by that armor, so can't help but pick it up.

A sketch clearly of the walls of Fort Daelin, so clear and exact he can’t help but recognize it, with written notes beside it in a surprisingly familiar hand. The same hand that had written his words carefully on the Alliance’s map. 

Shaw’s hand, he realizes, behind it all. It seems fitting.

The desk is clean except for a pen and inkwell that still lie on the desk, and half the parchment is blank. He can't resist. It's a way to say thanks, he figures.

He knows a particularly clever limerick about that fort, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I think Matthias actually is a full on cartographer? No. 
> 
> Do I see him knowing how to update them on the road (or on the ocean), as a spy, with his drawings and meticulous hand? Yes. 
> 
> Was this 100% inspired by the exploring azeroth books? Of course.


End file.
